


The Convention - Supply Run (Day 8: Shopping)

by drownedinblissfulconfusion (tundraeternal)



Series: The Convention [8]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Conventions, Dirty Talk, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 15:12:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tundraeternal/pseuds/drownedinblissfulconfusion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>30-Day OTP Challenge</p><p>A succession of Cockles ficlets, set at a fictional convention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Convention - Supply Run (Day 8: Shopping)

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I do not personally know any of the people I'm writing about. As far as I'm concerned, these are fictional characters in some alternate universe, which exists someplace between our own and the French Drop universe, who happen to bear superficial resemblance to our boys (and girls). Their conversations, personalities, and innermost thoughts are generally extrapolated from plausible reality, occasionally made up from whole cloth.

They escape to Misha's room the moment the costume party is officially over. They've barely shut the door before Jensen has Misha pushed up against it and is sliding his hands up underneath the blue Spock shirt. He rubs his thumbs over Misha's nipples, and Misha moans and wiggles out of the shirt to give Jensen more room. Jensen dips his head to follow his fingers with his tongue. Misha tries to bite back the noise torn from his throat, as Jensen laves his tongue across a nipple, then presses wet sucking kisses against it. 

Misha gathers the presence of mind to lay hands on Jensen’s chest and push, walking him backwards through the living area and into the bedroom. He backs Jensen against the bed, and Jensen falls back onto it. He tries to snag Misha’s shirt to drag him down, but Misha laughs and dodges, walking over to his suitcase and unzipping it. 

“Shit.” He stills as he peers inside the case.

“What?” Jensen props himself up on his elbows, trying to see what’s put the despairing tone into Misha’s voice. “What happened?”

“I swear, I _know_ I packed it. Shit.”

“Misha, _what?_ ”

“I don’t have any stuff. Lube, condoms, I must have left the bag at home.”

Jensen jumps up, crosses to stand by Misha’s side. “Are you sure? Maybe it’s in a different pocket?”

“The bag’s only got two pockets.”

They look at each other for a beat, then two. Finally Misha bursts out laughing. 

“You look like a puppy who’s had his toy stolen. Come on, I saw a drugstore a couple miles up the road when I drove in yesterday. We’ll make a supply run.”

“What’s this ‘we’? You afraid to go alone?”

“I’m not letting your sexy ass out of my sight for a second, Ackles. God knows what might happen.”

“Alright, but you’re lending me a shirt. No way are we going to buy condoms dressed as Kirk and Spock.”

* * * * *

The drugstore is of the 24-hour variety, and Jensen thinks maybe it’s a sign that the universe is finally going to stop cockblocking them. He doesn’t even mind when Misha won’t let him wait in the car. He draws the line, however, at debating the pros and cons of ‘ribbed for her pleasure’, much to Misha’s disappointment. Grabbing a box at random, and a bottle of lube from the top shelf, Jensen marches up to the counter. He tries not to turn beet red when Misha comes up behind him and wraps his arms around Jensen’s waist. Luckily, the snaggle-toothed teenager working the checkout doesn’t bat an eyelash, and they escape back to the car relatively unembarrassed. In Misha’s case, completely unembarrassed. The man has no shame. 

Before unlocking the doors, Misha backs Jensen against the hood for a long kiss, full of promise, that has Jensen flushing red for different reasons, and they both slide hurriedly into the car. Misha rests a firm hand on Jensen’s thigh as he pulls out of the parking lot, and the contact alone has Jensen short of breath, his pants beginning to feel tight. The few miles back to the hotel suddenly seem much too long. Misha seems to agree. With a wicked grin, still watching the road, he slides his hand up to rub over Jensen’s crotch. With a deft twist, he unbuttons Jensen’s pants and slides the zipper down. He reaches in to stroke long fingers over Jensen’s erection sliding oh-so-slowly up the shaft before rubbing over the head. Through the fabric of Jensen’s briefs it’s torturous, both too much sensation and too little. 

“Misha, Christ, pull over.”

“I’m really surprisingly talented at multitasking.”

“Misha!”

“Alright, alright!” He hits the hazard lights and pulls off to the shoulder. As soon as the car is in park, Jensen has wrapped one hand around the back of Misha’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss. He makes it wet and dirty, mouths open, tongues sliding carelessly over lips and teeth. Jensen runs his free hand down Misha’s chest and finds his fly, opens his jeans, and finally, _finally_ gets his hand around Misha’s cock. He’s too desperate for much finesse; he jerks rough and hot, and swallows down the small, thirsty sounds Misha makes with each pull. He feels Misha’s strokes on his own dick falter in their rhythm as the pleasure becomes too overwhelming. 

“I want to see you come.” Jensen whispers into Misha’s mouth. With a gasp, Misha pulls away and his body goes taut, head thrown back and muscles tight, as he hits his release, hot liquid running over Jensen’s hand. Jensen uses the slick of it to rub him smoothly, easing Misha through the orgasm. He stutters his hips against Jensen’s hand, gasping, until Jensen lets him go. 

“God, Misha, you’re amazing like this.” He can't help staring at the lines of Misha's neck, his face in profile, mouth open in ecstasy. 

“I thought that was my line.” Misha opens his eyes and looks at Jensen, blue eyes made black by night and arousal. Keeping the eye contact, he swipes his fingers through the mess on Jensen’s hand, then pulls down the waistband of Jensen’s underwear, smearing the fluid with Jensen’s precome, and picking up the lost rhythm. 

“I wanted to wait ‘til I had you in my bed,” Misha growls low, voice as dark as Castiel’s. It’s Jensen’s turn now to gasp and squeeze his eyes shut. “I was going to lay you down and undress you piece by piece, spread you out.” He strokes Jensen along with the cadence of his words. “I’d take your cock in my mouth and run my tongue along you. Scrape my teeth over your thighs and watch you trembling.” Jensen is so close to the edge now, but he’s straining to hear Misha’s every word. “And then I was going to put my fingers in your ass and stroke you from the inside until you were raw with it.” Jensen can’t help whimpering. “And when you were ready, I’d fuck you wide open, with your legs around my waist until you forgot your own name. And _then_ I was going to let you come.” He leans close, breath hot on Jensen’s ear. “But here we are, jerking each other off in a car like teenagers, because I can’t fucking resist you.” Jensen comes at last, with sparks behind his eyes, striping his borrowed t-shirt with it, cock pulsing hot in Misha’s loosening hand. 

Jensen watches, boneless and spent, as Misha raises his hand to his mouth and licks off a drip from his thumb. “Lucky we’ve got all night, hmm?” 

“Misha?” Jensen rasps.

“Mm?”

“If you fuck half as good as you talk, all night’s not gonna be long enough.”

Misha smirks and starts the engine back up.


End file.
